Chapter 241: Ottoman Method

She shrugged slightly.

“They are not wealthy enough to hire physicians… but neither are they cruel enough to abandon their loved ones.”

She glanced deliberately at the old man lying on the table.

“Though some elderly men are quite stubborn.”

The patient blushed faintly, drawing a few quiet chuckles from the watching professors.

“Most of them accept the treatment eventually,” Catalina continued. “After all, they understand that this may be their only chance.”

She leaned closer to inspect another pustule.

“Professor Johann, come look.”

She gestured toward the lesion and the dropper of alcohol.

“The corruption cannot breathe once it touches the pure alcohol. The unfortunate reality is that this method is difficult to expand. The grain required to produce enough spirits is already considerable.”

She sighed softly.

“If not for the contacts I gained while working in the factories, it would have been impossible to obtain enough alcohol for these experiments.”

Johann nodded slowly.

He understood the problem immediately.

Such treatment could be afforded by the wealthy—people who could spend vast sums of grain and alcohol to save themselves.

But a poor farmer might only harvest enough grain to feed his family.

Even with additional work, they would never afford such quantities of distilled spirits.

Still… it was progress.

“That is why,” Catalina continued, “the women here and I decided to explore another approach.”

Her expression sharpened slightly.

“And this one may surprise you.”

She paused for a moment.

“In truth, the idea comes from the Ottoman Empire.”

At once, every director and professor turned toward her.

Even the women working behind Catalina straightened slightly, quietly nodding.

They all knew what she was about to reveal.

And if her idea worked…

It might shake Europe far more than any machine, laboratory, or factory ever could.

Catalina held the silver needle steady, its tip reflecting the dim glow of the lanterns. The air in the room seemed to sharpen as the word “Ottoman” hung between them like a challenge.

“I learned that the Ottomans have a way to prevent the virus from overwhelming the human body,” Catalina began, her voice calm but unwavering. “For generations, in the markets of Constantinople and the villages of the East, they have practiced what they call ingrafting. It is a very interesting method for preventing smallpox.”

A heavy silence fell over the directors.

Johann stepped forward, his brow furrowed with a mixture of curiosity and deep-seated prejudice.

“You speak of the Turkish method, Catalina?” he said slowly. “That is little more than folklore and old wives’ tales. Lady Montagu attempted to bring such ideas to London decades ago, and the Royal College of Physicians nearly laughed her out of the city.”

He was referring to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

Catalina met his gaze without hesitation.

“You, more than anyone, should know why they laughed,” she replied, stepping closer. “It was not because the method was wrong. It was not because they tested it and failed.”

Her voice sharpened.

“They laughed because she was a woman.”

The room went still.

“They feared what they did not understand,” Catalina continued. “To them, smallpox was a curse—an illness sent by God to punish the sinful.”

She lifted the silver needle slightly.

“But according to the accounts I have read, the Ottomans do not see it that way. They believe God created the disease—but also the cure.”

Her eyes moved across the room.

“And that it is the duty of the human mind to discover it.”

She gestured toward a small sealed walnut shell resting on a square of silk cloth.

One of the women behind her stepped forward and carefully opened it.

Inside lay a dry, pale powder.

“This,” Catalina said, “is material taken from a mild case.”

Her voice remained steady.

“With it, we can teach the body to resist the disease.”

Then she added quietly,

“And we have already tested it… on ourselves.”

Francisco’s eyes widened instantly.

“Wait—what did you just say, Catalina?” he asked, alarm rising in his voice.

He hurried toward her, panic overtaking his composure.

“How could you be so reckless?”

Without hesitation he began examining her arms, her hands, even the side of her neck, searching frantically for pustules or scars.

The other doctors instinctively stepped backward from the group of women, alarm flashing across their faces.

Francisco stopped after a moment, frowning deeply.

“Did you really use that method?” he asked. “Because I cannot see any wounds.”

Several professors visibly relaxed, assuming the women had exaggerated their claim.

But Catalina calmly rolled back the sleeve of her arm.

Near her shoulder was a small scar.

It resembled the mark of a healed pustule.

Francisco turned toward Johann cautiously.

“Professor… is this really a smallpox mark?”

Johann leaned closer, studying it carefully.

He frowned.

It resembled one—but it was unusually small.

“Perhaps,” he admitted uncertainly.

Then he turned toward the other women.

“Do you also have one?”

The women nodded solemnly.

Johann looked back at the powder inside the walnut shell, then at the scars, and finally at Catalina.

His mind raced through every possibility.

“Are you absolutely certain you suffered smallpox?” he asked slowly.

He folded his arms.

“I know that those who survive the disease rarely suffer it again. But it seems… extraordinary that you would dare to infect yourselves deliberately.”

Francisco was still a little doubtful, but he trusted his wife. After a moment of thought, he spoke.

“I have never suffered smallpox,” he said. “Could you use your method on me? That way the professors may be more willing to believe, and I can rest assured about my future if the disease ever reaches me.”

Catalina looked at him for a moment, surprised—but then she smiled and nodded.

“I will,” she said calmly. “And I will remain with you during the entire ingrafting.”

Francisco nodded.

Around them, the professors hesitated. Several exchanged uneasy glances, particularly those who had family members who had never suffered smallpox. Most of the older professors had already survived the disease in their youth, but if Catalina’s method proved real, their children and relatives might never have to risk their lives in the future.

Johann listened carefully to Francisco’s proposal.

After a moment of silence, he spoke.

“I will also do it.”

The room turned toward him.

“I have been fortunate all my life,” Johann continued solemnly. “And if this method is real, then using myself as a test subject seems appropriate. Besides…” he added with a faint smile, “it is a very interesting experiment.”

Several professors still chose to wait and observe. If the treatment succeeded, they might later volunteer their family members—but first they needed proof.

Proof that both Francisco and Johann survived.

Francisco looked at Johann and spoke again.

“In that case, you should summon your students,” he said. “They can record our symptoms during the period of illness. If everything is documented properly, we will be able to prove to the world that the method works.”

His voice hardened slightly.

“And with enough witnesses, even those hypocrites who claim women cannot make discoveries will be forced to remain silent.”

Johann’s eyes lit up.

He too had grown tired of the stubborn arrogance of certain scholars who clung to tradition and refused to accept new ideas.

For a moment, his thoughts raced ahead.

He could invite several open-minded colleagues from across Europe. If they witnessed the experiment themselves, the discovery could not easily be dismissed.

More importantly, it would guarantee proper credit for Catalina, the women working in the laboratory, and the University of Göttingen.

Perhaps it might even open the doors of the medical faculty to women one day.

His excitement became visible.

“That is an excellent idea,” Johann said, nodding eagerly. “I will write to several friends and colleagues and ask them to attend. If respected scholars witness the results, no one in Europe will be able to deny the credit that belongs to your wife and the women working here.”

He paused, thinking carefully.

“However, it may take a couple of weeks before they arrive.”

Johann turned toward Catalina and the women.

“You should use that time to prepare for the treatment. If something goes wrong… you must understand the consequences will be serious.”

His tone grew heavier.

“This experiment carries great responsibility.”

Catalina’s expression became solemn.

The women standing behind her grew equally serious.

They all nodded.

Two weeks.

Two weeks to perfect their method.

Not only because famous professors would soon arrive to witness the experiment—

—but because the test subjects would be Francisco, one of the greatest industrial minds connected to the University of Göttingen, and Johann, one of the most respected scholars of the human body in Europe.

If either of them died…

The women would lose their chance to make history.

And worse—

They would hand the conservative scholars the perfect argument to claim that women had no place in science, delaying the opportunity for women to build a better future. This was more than an experiment—it was a chance to change how the world saw women.

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